


Dear Daddy

by Clayla



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adoption, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Dreams, Explanations, Explicit Language, Growing Up, Happy Ending, I'm Bad At Tagging, Larents, M/M, Other, Sad, Sickness, Single Parent Harry, Single Parents, There's A Tag For That, Wow, Zombies, barely any though, charlotte the dog, harry is a dad, larrystylinson, parent loss, parenting, sometimes, sort of, under editing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:49:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3837709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clayla/pseuds/Clayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Shhh! I think they’re on to us!” Darcy whispers, sliding under the covers. Harry couldn’t be more glad he wore boxers that night.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Who’s they?” Harry asks, more confused than ever. Even with only the dim light from the Christmas tree slipping through the crack of the door, he could make out Darcy’s eyes widening dramatically.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>“The reindeers.”</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>Yep, this is definitely Louis’ daughter.</em></p><p> </p><p>Or, the difficulties of raising Darcy Styles-Tomlinson (Larry stylinson)</p><p>Trigger: Please do not read if parent loss is a trigger for you <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age 5

“Papa, does Daddy like me?”

Harry’s head shot up from his dog-eared book to Darcy, who stood before him twiddling the hem of her skirt. Her cheeks, still laden with baby fat, were rosy from a day out in the snow. Upon a closer look, however, they were more blotchy instead, with dried tears trailing down her face, matting down stray strands of brown hair. Quickly, Harry set the book aside as Darcy ran more than hurriedly into his tight embrace. 

“Why would you ask such a thing? Of course Daddy loves you.” Harry murmurs into her hair, catching scent of the fruity shampoo that boasted to be tear-free. If only the shampoo would work outside of bath time.

Darcy murmurs into Harry’s shoulder, of which he could barely hear. “What was that, honey?” Harry asks, as Darcy pulls away, tears now brimming in the corners of her eyes.

“I said, if Daddy loves me, then why doesn’t he come back for Christmas?” Darcy asks again, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Why did he leave last Christmas? Did he not like my present?”

Harry frantically shook his head. “No, no! Not at all.” Harry says, remembering the messily wrapped box remained unopened under the tree Christmas morning. 

“Then why did he leave?” Darcy demands, and Harry winces at the sharpness in her words that he didn’t know a five year old could make. One look at her sad blue eyes, however, and he knew it was more out of hurt than anything.

“Daddy, uh, Daddy’s busy.” Harry stammers, unsure what exactly he is doing. Darcy’s eyes light up with curiosity, pressing him to go on. “Daddy’s very busy around this time of the year, Darling. You know how Santa has elves, right?”

Darcy nods, almost excitedly. 

“Well-” Harry gulps “-your daddy’s an elf. He has to make all those toys for Christmas and help Santa deliver them.”

Pure awe unravels across Darcy’s face, as she bounces up and down on Harry’s lap. “I knew it! Is that why Uncle Niall always calls Daddy an elfish bugger?”

Harry surprises himself by breaking out into laughter, as he remembers Louis’ sharp cheekbones and small elf-like frame. Darcy’s giggles join in, and before long, both of them are nearly in stitches. 

“Papa,” Darcy says, once they’ve sombered down a bit “When will Daddy come back?”

Harry fumbles his mind for a bit, before setting Darcy next to him on the couch and grabbing a pen and an extra Christmas card from the coffee table. “Here,” Harry says, opening up the card to the blank inside. “Why don’t you write Daddy a letter? I’m sure he wants to see how much your writing’s improved.”

Darcy giggles delightedly, before grabbing the pen and card. She bounces off the couch and onto the living room floor, resting on her stomach and propped up by her elbows. For a few moments she ponders in silence, before giving Harry a questioning look.

“What should I write?”

Harry thinks for a bit, before a light bulb lights above his head. “Why don’t you write Daddy a story? You’ve always loved Daddy’s stories, I’m sure he’ll love yours.” Harry grins, as Darcy smiles back satisfied. It wasn’t long before the quiet house was filled with the sounds of pen scrawling away on paper, and Harry could only imagine what Darcy could have possibly conjured up.


	2. Age 6

“Psst! Papa!” Darcy whispers, and Harry’s almost sure he’s dreaming until a tiny but solid body lands on his stomach.

“Oof!” Harry grunts, only to be met with a “Shhhh!” from Darcy. He’s not quite sure why she’s whispering, since the house was just the two of them. In the dark, he could feel the sharp edge of paper against his cheek, only a millimeter away from a paper cut.

“Darcy, what are you doing?” Harry asks, not sure why he’s whispering as well. He feels a small hand clasp over his mouth as the paper closed the final millimeter, giving a nice quick nick against his cheek. “Ow.” Harry winces, although it was largely muffled by Darcy’s palm.

“Shhh! I think they’re on to us!” Darcy whispers, sliding under the covers. Harry couldn’t be more glad he wore boxers that night.  
“Who’s they?” Harry asks, more confused than ever. Even with only the dim light from the Christmas tree slipping through the crack of the door, he could make out Darcy’s eyes widening dramatically.

“The reindeers.”

Yep, this is definitely Louis’ daughter.

“No, Papa! You have to believe me! I just wanted to put Daddy’s letter under the tree for Santa to pick up, but I think the reindeers caught me sneaking from the window!”

Harry shakes his head in confusion for a moment, before catching on with Darcy’s rushed words. 

“Wait, you want Santa to give Daddy what?” Harry asks, and is given no response except for a piece of paper flapping in front of his face.

“This! I wrote another story for Daddy, so he can know how much we love him from the North Pole. But if the reindeers saw me then-”

“You wrote another letter?” Harry asks, remembering the incident last year. He didn’t expect Darcy to remember, honestly. Darcy nods vigorously, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“But that’s not the point! If the reindeers see me, then they’ll tell Santa I’ve been sneaking around! Then Santa won’t come and Daddy won’t get his letter!”

Oddly enough, the logic somewhat made sense. That is, if spying reindeers made sense.

“And why are you in my bed past midnight?” Harry questioned, and was replied with a small square of paper pressed in his palm. He brought it towards the direction of the door, making out the shape of an envelope in the light.

“I need you to deliver this to Santa ‘cause you’re an adult.” Darcy says. Although twenty-five just barely made him an adult, Harry was too young to deal with reindeer spies. But this was Darcy, and when it comes to Darcy, Harry made exceptions; even if it meant dealing with reindeers dropping from the roof on cables. 

“Alright, bring it here.” Harry sighs, although a part of him warmed at the thought of Darcy thinking for Louis. Darcy was more than gleeful, as she pulled the covers over herself, leaving Harry to meet Santa in his boxers.

Quietly, Harry slipped out the door, closing it shut behind him. Although the house was chilly, the glow of the Christmas lights circling the tree provided some warmth as Harry padded his way to the tree. The colors of the lights reflected off the various ornaments, casting a rainbow of colors onto the creamy walls around it. Unfortunately for Darcy, Santa already stopped here, from the looks of the piles upon piles of presents under the tree. Nimbly, Harry shrugged on a long coat from the coat closet and a pair of worn sneakers before easing open the front door. If Santa couldn’t deliver the letter, then Harry would have to do it himself.

***********************************************************************************************************

By the time Harry gets back, the the sky has just lightened barely, although it was still very much the dead of night. Once he steps through the front door, the warmth immediately thaws his stiff skin, and the snow clinging to his shoes begin to melt. With the coat back in the closet, Harry is once again dressed in only a loose pair of boxers as he slips back into his room.

As soon as he collapses onto the bed, Harry grabs aimlessly for the blankets, only to be met with a lump on the other side of the bed. The room is filled with soft snoring, and Harry tries not to roll his eyes as he grabbed what little of the blanket he could salvage before falling asleep.

Yep, Darcy was definitely Louis’ daughter.


	3. Age 7

“Alright, Mr. Styles. There is no use in denying this any longer. Where did you take the cookies?”

Harry couldn’t believe what was happening right now. Despite being a six foot tall man of steel, his seven year old daughter (who just lost her fifth tooth, by the way) had somehow bound him to a kitchen chair with the spare rope in the garage. Of course, there might have been some help from the three traitors that sat smirking at him from the couch, cheering Darcy on.

“I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”   
Harry nearly gulps as Darcy eyes him menacingly, even as she is dressed in a too large Christmas sweater and has her hair is up in pigtails. 

“Mr. Styles, you understand that until you tell the truth, you are not coming out of those handcuffs.” Darcy scoffs. Once again, Harry is reminded of the uncomfortable plastic jagging into the skin on his wrist, much too tiny for his large hands.

“Oi, Darcy, where did you get those handcuffs?” Zayn asks in false confusion, while a blush crept up Harry’s cheeks.

“I found them under-”

“Okay, Okay! I must confess!” Harry exclaims, as the three lads snicker on the couch. “I stole the cookies. Santa said he needed to go on a diet, so I ate them instead.”

Harry nearly bursts into giggles as Darcy turns to him horrified. It took all he had to remain a straight face for the sake of the scene. Once Darcy regained her composure, she spun around facing the couch.

“Well, honorable members of the jury. What do you suppose is the rightful punishment for this,” Darcy pauses, pointing at Harry’s stomach. “This utterly indescribable atrocity!”

If Harry weren’t so worried about what was going on in his three best friends’ heads, then he would be applauding Darcy’s vocabulary.

“I say dump him in the lake.”

“Make him your slave!”

“Bury him in snow.”

“In the snow naked!”

“Liam! And here I thought I could trust you!” Harry exclaims, shuddering at the thought of nothing between him and the cold, wet snow outside in the dark.

“All good ideas, gentlemen. Especially you, Uncle Liam.” Darcy commemorates, as Zayn and Niall give Liam a small round of applause. “But,” Darcy continues, “I must say, I have a personal favor I seek from this thieving thief before us.”  
If Harry was scared of Liam, Zayn, and Niall, then he definitely wasn’t ready for Darcy.

Darcy clears her throat, drawing the attention of the room. “I request Mr. Styles here to personally deliver a message to the North Pole. No questions asked.”

Harry widens his eyes in surprise as Darcy produces a crisp envelope from her pocket. Sure enough, the letter is addressed to “Sir Elf Daddy,” and Harry couldn’t help but choke back a sob knowing Louis would absolutely love that title. 

“Whatever you wish, Darcy Darling.” Harry chuckles, as the other lads scrunch their eyebrows at the letter in confusion.

“That’s Miss Darcy to you. Honorary Jury, release this man.” Darcy commands, as the three boys ease themselves from the couch, untying the knots on the chair.

As Darcy drags Niall and Liam to the kitchen for another batch of cookies, Zayn unties the last knot, giving Harry a good pat on the shoulder.

“A letter?” He asks, eyebrow raised. Harry sighs, handing over the envelope. Zayn takes one look at the jumbled handwriting before enveloping Harry into a hug. 

“She misses him, doesn’t she?” Zayn murmurs into Harry’s shoulder. Harry nods, clinging tighter to Zayn’s sweater. They stay this way for a few minutes before Harry breaks away, rubbing his eyes.

“I just wish there was more I could do.”


	4. Age 8

“Auntie Perrie!” Darcy shrieks, running to the door as the blond woman steps through the door.

“Darcy!” Perrie exclaims, sweeping Darcy up in her arms. Zayn walks around them, pressing a peck against Darcy’s temple. “My, you have grown! And look at your hair! It looks beautiful in a bun!” 

“Did you Dad teach you?” Zayn smirks, earning a playful nudge from Harry. Harry leans to his right, spotting a little girl clinging to the hem of Perrie’s dress.

“Alicia? Is that you?” Harry grins, as the girl turns to him, nodding slightly. “Come on, come give Uncle Harry a hug.”

The girl approaches quietly, but gives a surprised shriek as Harry sweeps her up into the air. “My goodness, how old are you now?”

“Fwor!” Alicia giggles, poking Harry’s dimple. “Well, aren’t you a big girl now!” Harry chuckles, setting her down. “Darcy, dear, why don’t you show Alicia around?” Harry says, as Perrie gives Darcy one last peck on the cheek.

“Glad you two are here. Alicia is absolutely beautiful.” Harry grins, as the couple envelops him in a hug. “Liam and Soph are in the kitchen. Niall should be around any minute with Barbara. Food’s on the table.” Harry says, guiding the couple into the kitchen.

Soon enough, the doorbell rings again, this time revealing a blond man carrying a large wrapped box.

“Woah, woah, what is that?” 

Niall laughs, dumping the load in Harry’s arms as he leads Barbara in. “Good to see you Harry.” Barbara smiles, as Harry attempts to free a hand for a handshake. 

“That’s for Dar Dar, by the way.” Niall chirps, before nearly skipping into the kitchen. Barbara follows suit, carrying a bowl of pudding they had brought along. “Make sure she doesn’t open it before Christmas!” Barbara adds, before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Harry quirks his lips in curiously, and sets the box on the living room coffee table. He could already picture how Darcy’s face would light up when she later spots the box, and so he quickly ambles into his room and digs through the bottom drawer of the dresser. Finally, he spots the old digital camera beneath bundles upon bundles of socks, and fishes it out. Clicking the on button, Harry’s heart nearly stops at the last image taken.

Under the Christmas tree was Darcy, only four years old. Her hair had been put into pigtails that day, and her smile revealed a gap in her front teeth. Sprawled on the ground next to her was Louis, who had a surprised look on his face at Darcy, although Harry couldn’t remember why.

Looking at the picture, it was amazing to Harry how much Darcy had grown. He remembered when she barely reached up to his mid thigh, which was quite impressive, considering his long gangly legs. Now she stood above Harry’s waist, and he’s never felt his heart swell so much. 

Then there was Louis, who never grew an inch after he reached twenty. Although he had tried several times to convince Harry he was 5’9’’, that would mean he was only a few inches shorter than Harry, which was not the case. In the picture, he had been dressed in one of Harry’s sweaters, meaning it hung like a blanket on his shoulders, making him look smaller than he already was. 

Before Harry knew it, he felt a tear slip down his cheek and onto the screen of the camera. That picture was taken nearly four years ago after dinner on Christmas eve. Darcy had been anxious to shake the boxes, although Louis tried to persuade her each one was fragile. Later that night, Louis slipped on his coat and drove off, leaving their lives forever. 

Even though the door to his room was closed, Harry could still make out the bustling chatter from the kitchen, often interrupted by Niall’s bursting laughter followed by the kids’ high pitched giggles. Harry took a shuddering breath, and stared ahead at the blank white wall.

“This is what you’re missing out on, Lou.” Harry says, finding the name so foreign on his tongue. Even as he thinks the name each day in his mind, it must have been years since he’s last said it out loud. “It would be even better with you here.”

Slowly, Harry eases his way up, and closes the drawer. He wipes away the stray tears on his cheeks, and slides into the kitchen, where it was even louder than before.

“Papa! You’re here!” Niall calls out, spreading laughter across the room. Harry feels something solid collide with his leg, and he looks down to see Darcy clinging happily.

“Papa! Papa! Did you know Alicia can do the splits? Did you see Auntie Soph catch grapes in the air? She says she’ll teach me how! Oh! And Uncle Niall says your pasta is killer!” Darcy rambles in one giant breath. Harry chuckles and ruffles her hair.

“Well, I have to try some of his pudding then.” Harry says, scooping Darcy up into his arms. Admittedly, this was getting harder and harder each year, although he wasn’t sure if that was due to his age or Darcy’s weight. He hopes it’s Darcy’s weight.  
“Ooh! Is that a camera? We never take pictures!” Darcy exclaims. Harry laughs, although a part of him cracks at the thought of the pictures Darcy has forgotten. 

“Well, why don’t we get started today?” Harry asks. Darcy nods giddily, before slipping out of his grasp and to the kitchen table, finding her way on top of a chair.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen!” Darcy calls out, and nearly immediately the room silences. Darcy grins. “I would like to announce that Mr. Styles will be our photographer for the night, and would like to take a group picture.”

“Oh, cool!” Liam agrees, as everyone starts lining their way into some sort of formation.

“Actually,” Harry says, as everyone pauses, “I kinda want to just take random photos. You know, like candid.” 

The adults chuckle and agree, as the children wrinkle their foreheads in confusion at the word. “Candid? What does candid mean?” Harry hears Darcy ask, and Harry nearly slaps his head when he hears Niall’s explanation: “It’s your dad trying to be hipster.”

Despite that, Harry snapped several photos that night, most of them capturing the most unexpected moments, including Darcy sneaking a sip of Perrie’s wine.

Once the night closed up and everyone left, it was nearly midnight. Everyone had been particularly kind about clean up, and cleared most of the dishes away, leaving Darcy and Harry slumped tiredly on the living room couch. Although it was way past Darcy’s bedtime, she had practically begged to at least scroll through the photos from the night. And as always, when it comes to Darcy, Harry had to say yes.

“Hah! Uncle Niall has pudding up his nose!” Darcy giggles, pointing at the small screen. Harry chuckles and scrolls to the next picture, only to be met with the picture of four year old Darcy. Quickly, Harry shuts the camera, and pulls Darcy in an embrace.

“Well, that was one heck of a night, wasn’t it?” Harry asks. For a minute, Darcy is eerily quiet, before whispering into Harry’s collar.

“That was Daddy, wasn’t it?”

Harry doesn’t answer, but his silence was enough. Darcy lies still for a few minutes to the point that Harry was sure she has fallen asleep, until she grabs the camera out of his hands.

“Let’s take a new one. Just you and me.” Darcy says, angling the lense at themselves. Harry barely has any time to pull on a smile before the camera flashes.

“Hah, you look surprised.” Darcy giggles as she scrolls to the photo. Harry peers over her shoulder, and sure enough, he looks as surprised as Louis in the picture from four years ago.

“Make sure to print that one.” Darcy says, hopping off of the couch and towards her bedroom. “I want to send one to Daddy.”

“Will do.” Harry says, before getting up after her. Harry didn’t care if the next time he sees that photo is fifty years from now; he will remember why he was surprised.


	5. Age 9

It’s a quiet Christmas this year, with Niall and Barbara on vacation, Liam and Sophia taking care of their second baby, and Zayn and Perrie taking Alicia to her grandmother’s house. Harry felt older than ever now, sitting alone on the couch as Darcy phoned a friend upstairs. The loud chatter and giggles from her room only made Harry feel lonelier, and he couldn’t imagine what it would be like once Darcy goes to college.

Harry takes a second to imagine Darcy in college. He could already feel the incoming waves of drama, with Darcy coming home from school each day already chattering on about the latest gossip. Even worse than that, there would be, Harry shudders, the boyfriends. 

Harry honestly had no idea how he would react to Darcy’s first boyfriend. He couldn’t imagine anyone perfect enough for Darcy, although he had to admit there was bias there. However, Harry did know that if the boy she brings home has even one tattoo, well, they weren’t sticking around for long.

Harry frowns, staring down at his own tattoos. Well, maybe there could be some exceptions?

Harry sits up straighter when the upstairs turns silent as the call ends. His gut tugs with hope to see Darcy skipping down the stairs- well, maybe not skipping- to jump in the space beside him on the couch, and act like she was his little girl forever. 

Moments later, and Darcy still has not come down. Instead, the air is filled with the noise of the typewriter Niall had gotten her last Christmas. Ever since she peeled away the wrapping Christmas morning, there was at least an hour of clicking sounds each day. Sometimes Harry sneaks into her room in hopes of catching what she is typing, but nearly always the papers are hidden or tucked away.

“Hey, Papa?” Darcy calls from upstairs, and Harry bolts up from his place on the couch, taking two steps at a time up the stairs. Quietly, he peers into Darcy’s room, which had been newly decorated with flower stickers and lavender drapes. 

“Yes, Dar Dar?” Harry smirks as Darcy pouts at the nickname.

“Dad! I’m nine! I’m too old for Dar Dar.” Darcy whines, grabbing the paper from the typewriter and folding it three times. She sticks it out to Harry, and gives a hopeful look.

“For Daddy.” She says, and a blush oddly creeps its way up her cheeks. Harry purses his lips, and leans on one leg.

“I don’t know, you’ve been a bad girl this year.” Harry says, tapping his foot. 

“Please, Papa?” Darcy begs, giving the ultimate puppy dog look. Harry has to admit, it nearly triumphs Liam’s. 

“Under one condition.” Harry states, smirking. Darcy rolls her eyes.

“What?”

“I get to call you Dar Dar.” 

Darcy sighs dramatically, which looked quite amusing on a nine year old.

“Okay, fine. Deal.”

Harry chuckles. “That’s my Dar Dar.”


	6. Age 10

“This is Agent Darcy calling in. Are you there Agent Styles?”

“No.”

“That’s Agent Darcy to you. Your career’s riding on this, Agent Styles. Do you want to lose your job?”

“Yes.”

“Papaa! Why aren’t you playing along?” Darcy huffs, popping up from behind the kitchen counter. “How can we save the Uncles if you won’t behave?”

“First of all,” Harry says, crawling out from under the kitchen table, “Those stuffed animals over there are not your uncles. Secondly, I won’t mind if they get kidnapped anytime soon.”

Darcy gasps in admonishment, before crossing her arms. “I’m telling the Uncles you said that.”

Harry shrugs. “Eh, they feel likewise.”

Darcy huffs again, this time storming to the living room phone. Harry watches as Darcy dials in a few digits, bringing the phone up to her ear. Three rings echo through the house before someone picks up.

“Hello? Yes, this is Darcy. Yes, everything is okay. No, Papa’s fine. More than fine, actually. In fact, I called to tell you that if you were stuck in an abandoned warehouse with Uncle Niall and Uncle Zayn, Papa wouldn’t want to save you.” Darcy pauses. “Even if Papa was a super agent with super powers, he said he wouldn’t save you.”

Darcy nods for a few moments, before giggling into the phone. “Love you too, Uncle Li.” She says, before setting the phone back down.

“Well?” Harry questions from his place on the kitchen floor.

“Uncle Li says likewise.”

****************************************************************************************************

“Agent Styles, do you copy?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Yes I do Sir!”

“Yes I do Sir.” Harry grumbles, his knees aching from kneeling in the coat closet all day. 

“Okay, I’m going to penetrate the base-”

“You mean my room?”

“Get your head out of the clouds, Agent Styles! This is no time for blibber blabbering!”

“Copy that.” Harry sighs into the walkie talkie, regretting deeply of ever buying that thing.

“Okay, good. Now I’m going to barge in, and if it is empty, I will say ‘empty.’”

“How clever of you.” Harry mutters.

“Do you want this job?”

“No.”

“Too bad, I’m barging in.”

Harry winces as he hears the wood of his bedroom door crash into the wall behind it, no doubt chipping the paint. 

“Empty!” Darcy whispers, as if it were a surprise. If the room hadn’t empty, Harry would have been deeply disturbed. On que, Harry eases open the closet door and crawls out towards his bedroom. Once past the door, he sees the chip in the wall and sighs, before crawling to where Darcy stayed hunched behind the bed.

“Agent Styles! I’ve found crucial evidence!” Darcy exclaims, as Harry crawls over to where she crouched. Harry’s stomach nearly did a tumble as he saw what she grasped in her hands.

The contents of the old shoe box from under Harry’s bed were sprawled across the carpet, including an old squeezy bottle and a couple of familiar red packages.

“What is this stuff?” Darcy exclaims wide eyed, staring at her hands. To Harry’s horror, Darcy played between her fingers the oily translucent substance from the bottle.

“Now, now Darcy, we do not play with that stuff.” Harry chuckles nervously, whisper all gone. Darcy pouts, making Harry feel very hypocritical, since he definitely played with that stuff.

“Aw, come on, Papa! I finally discovered something new in this house!” Darcy objects, but Harry tosses the items back in the box before Darcy can “discover” the red packages.

“Well, why don’t you wash off, and I’ll show you something you’ve never seen?” Harry barters, succeeding as soon as he sees the glimmer of curiosity in Darcy’s eyes.

“That a girl, Dar Dar.” Harry says, as Darcy skips off to the bathroom. Sighing, Harry peers under the bed to the very middle, where a thick leather book lay. Reaching as far as he could, Harry dug out the dusty book just as Darcy ambles back into the room.

“I’m back!” Darcy singsongs, and Harry jumps on the bed, patting the spot next to him. “What’s that?” Darcy asks, and Harry grins.

“It’s a photo album.” Harry says, as Darcy’s eyes widen. 

“We have a photo album?”

“Well,” Harry says, opening to the first page, “It’s of my life before you were born. It has Uncle Liam, Niall, and Zayn in here too.”

“And Daddy?” Darcy questions. Harry swallows.

“Yeah. And Daddy.” he murmurs.

The two of them flip through each page, laughing at a picture of Harry wearing his mother’s bra and another of Niall stuffing his face with mashed potatoes.

Finally, there’s the picture Harry knows is in the back of the album. As soon as he turns to the page, his grip on the book tightens, and Darcy takes notice.

“We don’t have to see the ones with Daddy, Papa.” Darcy says softly, gazing up at Harry. Harry meets her eyes, and chokes back a sob at how much Darcy has grown.

“Let’s go do something else. I wanna bake a cake!” Darcy says, bouncing up and down on the bed. Harry chuckles.

“Well, lucky for you, I used to be a baker.” Harry says, easing off the bed and tucking the book back next to the shoebox. 

“If you ever want to see pictures of Daddy, though, don’t hesitate. It’s okay to miss him.” Harry says, as Darcy leads him to the kitchen.

“I love you, Papa.” Darcy chirps, as she tugs out the sack of flour from the closet.

****************************************************************************************************  
“What is this?” Harry asks, eyebrows scrunched in concern. Darcy stares back innocently and grinning.

“It’s my letter to Daddy this year. I put in one of those red packages ‘cause it was part of the shoebox of fun.”

“Shoebox of fun?” Harry choked. That’s it, he’s never playing Spy Agent again.


	7. Age 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tad short, sowwy

The living room was somberly silent, save for the quiet background music playing on the TV as the credits rolled by.

“That… was kinda sad.” Darcy whispered. Harry pulled her closer from where they were on the couch, and tugged on her braid.

“Well, it’s good to see some sadness once in a while. Prepares you for the real world.” Harry says, grabbing the remote and shutting off the TV. “Well, it’s almost eleven, Dar Dar. Off to bed you go.”

Darcy stays put, still staring at the TV. Harry gives her a little playful nudge, but he himself doesn’t move either. After a day of shoveling snow around the neighborhood, he was bummed out. Nothing felt better than to just stay there forever, and forget the troubles of the world.

“Do you… do you suppose that’s why Dad left us?” Darcy asks tentatively. For a second Harry’s mind churns, before remembering the movie playing beforehand. There just so happened to be a little girl Darcy’s age, who had a single father, just like Harry. Harry clears his throat looking for the right words to say, but silence is all that he can come up with.

“You used to say the whole Santa Claus stuff, but I know that’s not true.” Darcy says, before taking a deep breath. “And I kinda wanna learn more about Dad.”

Harry stays silent, wishing that the credits music was back on.

“Papa, I just… please. Say something. You can’t tell me Dad works for Santa forever. I know it makes you upset, but there is so much I don’t know, and I don’t like that.” Darcy says, her voice trembling. Harry isn’t sure what makes him do it, but he simply stands up and walks to his room, shutting the door. He doesn’t bother changing his clothes either, and simply slumps into the bed. 

Soon enough, he hears Darcy sigh outside, and the living room lights flip off as she drags herself to bed as well. 

And Harry lies there, thinking. Harry has always believed in other lifetimes, although not very strictly, but it’s a nice thought he likes to contemplate. It used to be that he felt like the luckiest Harry out of all the lifetimes, but now, it just feels like he’s been ripped off. Even if there are other lifetimes, this one is still the one in the present, and nothing in him screams more than to get this lifetime over and on to the next.

Then Harry gets afraid that Darcy won’t be in the next life, and nothing scares him more than that. He couldn’t imagine a world without Darcy, yet it hurts so much to stay in this lifetime. 

As the night drew on, Harry was sure that Darcy must have fallen asleep, until a small white envelope slid under the door. Easing his way up, Harry picked up the envelope and turned it over.

_To Daddy_ , it read, and Harry smiled.


	8. Age 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday. Who knows the song?

“ _Joyeux noel, joyeux noel! JOYEUX NO-_ ”

“Darcy! Inside voices, _please_.” Harry begs from the kitchen, the scent of warm macaroni wafting to where Darcy was sprawled out on the living room carpet.

“Pourquoi, mon père? Tu adores ma voix.” Darcy singsongs with elegant hand gestures. Nonetheless, she quiets down, and Harry relaxes his shoulders, crumbling a few bread crumbs onto the macaroni before-

“ _JOYEUX NOEL, JOYEUX NOEELLL-_ ”

“DARCY!” Harry shouts in surprise from the kitchen, nearly spilling a pot of soup on the stove.

“Papa, inside voices _please._ ”

Harry grumbles to himself in the kitchen while stirring the soup, watching as the steam spiraled up towards the ceiling. In the living room, Darcy hums to herself, and the tune just seems so familiar. Harry wracks his brain for the words to the song, but only draws up a blank. Sighing, Harry stares aimlessly at the swirling soup as Darcy continued to hum, his mind drifting off.

_“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older-”_

_“Shhh! Lou, my parents don’t know your over-”_

_“Then we wouldn’t have to wait so looonnng,”_

_“Lou-”_

_“And wouldn’t it be nice to live together,”_

_“Ughhh!”_

_“In the kind of world where we belonngg!”_

_“LOU!”_

_"Shhh, Harry. Your parents don't know I'm over!"_

“Hey, Papa? Something smells burnt.”

Harry snaps his head up at Darcy’s voice and looks down to see something indeed burning.

“Bloody h-

“Papa!” Darcy scolds, as Harry swipes the pot off the stove and dumps the burnt contents into the sink.

“Well,” Harry sighs, “there goes the soup. Just macaroni tonight, Dar Dar.”

Despite the loss, Darcy squeals and shoots up from the carpet. Grabbing two plates and utensils, she sets everything out on the small dinner table before plopping down on a chair. Soon enough, Harry emerges from the kitchen carrying the pan of macaroni.

“ _Mmm…_ ” Darcy hums hungrily. Harry chuckles, sliding into a chair himself. After dishing out a scoopful of macaroni, the small dining room is filled with the sound of scraping silverware. 

“It’s gonna be a quiet one this year, isn’t it?” Darcy asks, although it comes out more as a statement. Her voice didn’t show any particular emotion, although the noodles sliding around her plate seemed a little disappointed.

“Well, Uncle Zayn and Aunt Perrie are taking Alicia to Disneyland.” Harry says, cringing on how much more eventful that was than a macaroni dinner. “Uncle Niall and Aunt Barbara are in Ireland, and Uncle Li and Auntie Soph are snowed in. Just going to be you and me this year.”

The dining room is quiet again, before Darcy pops her head back up from her plate.

“Feels kinda empty, doesn’t it?” Darcy asks, setting down her fork. “If only Dad were here.”

Harry chuckles, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “Well, why don’t you write Daddy that, and he’ll tell Santa to send you some company.”

Darcy rolls her eyes as she reaches across the table for Harry’s small glass of wine. Harry smirks in amusement as Darcy’s face scrunches at the burning alcohol, setting the glass of wine back quickly. “I’m sure Santa will come flying over last minute Christmas eve for some special delivery.” she says sarcastically, scooping another serving of macaroni.

Harry shrugs his shoulders. “Hey, Daddy is Santa’s favorite elf. Our household has connections. You never know.”

Darcy lets out a short laugh. “But really, I wish Dad was here. I think it’d be a lot louder.” Darcy muses, cringing as Harry takes a sip of his wine.

“Yup, a lot louder. You’d probably know an extra naughty word or two.” Harry adds, ignoring the “he’d probably be more fun than you” Darcy muttered under her breath.

“But just imagine how much fuller this house would be. Wouldn’t it be nice?” Darcy sighs dreamily.

_You know it seems the more we talk about it  
It only makes it worse to live without it_

“Yep,” Harry says, popping the "p." “But expect a few burnt meals once in a while.”

Darcy giggles, her eyes lighting up with glee. “Ooh! Maybe I’d even have a little sister!”

“Named Anne.” Harry adds, remembering the original plan.

_But lets talk about it  
Wouldn’t it be nice_

Darcy smiles at the name, imagining a sister whose hair she could braid or teach all the new things she’d learned. After dinner wrapped up, Harry set to washing the dishes as Darcy’s typewriter clicked away upstairs. By the time everything was cleaned up, the clicking of the typewriter had stopped, although light still peaked through the door. Tiptoeing upstairs, Harry eased open Darcy’s door to see the table lamp on and Darcy herself slumped over asleep on the desk, still before the typewriter. Glancing at the typewriter, Harry skimmed the first line.

_Dear Daddy,_

Harry’s eyes glided down the page, a bit surprised and gleeful that Darcy still wrote these things.

_This year’s Christmas is a little bit lonely. Papa and I talked about how I was going to have a sister named Anne. It was fun to imagine, but kinda hurt afterwards knowing that it’ll never happen. I’d never tell Papa this, because I don’t want him to feel like he’s not enough, but sometimes I can’t help but wish I was born into another life where maybe you’d stick around. Papa says if you were here, all the food would be burnt. Even so, I’d rather have burnt food if it meant a loud dinner table or more arms in a hug._

Harry swears to himself the wetness in his eyes is from the dusty lamp, but he could only lie to himself so much. Next to him Darcy stirs, to which Harry scooped her up, happy that he wasn’t too old to accomplish such a feat. Carefully, Harry deposits Darcy under the covers and unbraids her hair, letting the brown strands fan across her pillow. Glancing back at the typewriter, Harry slips out the paper and folds it three times to put in an envelope. He switches off the lamp and crouches by Darcy’s nightstand, pressing a kiss to her temple.

_Good night my baby_

Harry eases out the door and walks straight to the coat closet, tugging on a thick jacket and boots. With a quick glance at Darcy’s door, Harry unlocks the front door and steps into the windy cold. Louis was going to get this letter if Harry had anything to do about it, and Santa was going to make sure Darcy never has another lonely day in her life again. Even if it meant stepping in several inches of snow and miles of driving, Harry was going to make sure this was the last lonely Christmas.

_Sleep tight my baby_


	9. Age 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! I hope stuff is going well for all of you :)

“Charlotte, get down! That’s just Uncle Zayn!” Darcy scolds, beckoning Charlotte away from where she pounced onto Zayn and to Darcy’s side. “Sorry ‘bout that, Uncle Zee.” Darcy mumbles sheepishly.

“Hey, not a problem.” Zayn chuckles nervously at the growling dog as he leaned over to give Darcy a hug. “Just didn’t expect that, ha.”

Darcy grins, patting Charlotte’s head, whose tail swept furiously back and forth against the floor. “Yeah, she gets real excited easily. Kinda like Uncle Niall.”

“Tackles like him too.” Zayn mumbles.

“Wha?”

“Nothing. Where’s that father of yours?” Zayn asks. As if right on cue, Harry wanders into the living room, giving Zayn a bit of a surprised look.  
“Zayn. Forgot you were coming.” Harry says, giving Charlotte’s golden fur a good ruffle before going into the standard “hand shake to hug” that Darcy swears is all they do.

“No problem, mate. Just wanted to come over and get to know the dog before you guys actually leave.” Zayn says, as Darcy perks up.

“Can I give the Charlotte tour?” she says excitedly. Harry grins and nods, beckoning her to lead the way. “Don’t overwhelm him, Darling,” Harry says as Darcy drags Zayn to where they kept the dog food. “We don’t all need to know Charlotte’s favorite bedtime story.”

Although Darcy could go a little haywire whenever she starts talking about Charlotte, the spunky golden retriever they got last Christmas, Harry couldn’t have been more glad. While Harry finished up work in his office late at night, he could hear Darcy, who would never admit this, having conversations with Charlotte. Mainly it included Darcy rambling on about her day while Charlotte gave the occasional bark, but it filled the silence that hung so heavily before. It was as if he never realized how empty the house was until he heard a conversation in the house without him included.

“And,” Harry could hear Darcy in the kitchen, “this is where we keep the extra special treats. I’ve been using them to teach her tricks all year, but all she’s mastered is sit and roll over. Do you think maybe it’s cause the treats aren’t good enough? Or maybe she’s allergic to them. Hmm, what do you think, Uncle Zee?”

Harry chuckled as Zayn gave an awkward “uhhh.”

“Or maybe I shouldn’t use treats. Charlotte needs some hardcore training. Could you make sure she gets her protein while we’re gone?” Darcy asks, before moving on to show Zayn Charlotte’s favorite places to lounge in the house. It wasn’t until nearly an hour later that the two finished, nearly rounding the house three times for the “Charlotte tour.” All the while, the actual dog herself trailed behind Zayn, of whom she seems to have taken a liking to, which unfortunately for Zayn meant plenty of Charlotte’s pouncing hugs.

“Well, uh, I better get going.” Zayn mumbles, seemingly worn out. Darcy, however, seemed more pumped than ever while leading Zayn out the door. Once the house was back to just the three of them, Charlotte included, Darcy collapsed onto the couch, smiling.

“Ah, isn’t Uncle Zee just the best?” Darcy says, as Charlotte jumped on the spot next to her.

“Sure is.” Harry smirks.

********************************************************************************************************

It’s nearly eight in the evening, and nothing could be more peaceful than gazing out the large glass wall of the suite to the bustling activity of the resort below.

“Best day EVER!” Darcy cheers from where she lay on the bed, TV remote in one hand and a set of Mickey Mouse ears on top of her head. The two of them had spent nearly the whole day hugging every Disney princess in sight and going on nearly every amusement ride twice (again, Papa! Again!)

Now, nothing seemed more peaceful than to lounge out the rest of Christmas eve in the hotel until the chaotic fireworks and singing that Christmas day was sure to bring the next day. With the hum of the TV in the background, Harry nearly drifted asleep before a shocked gasp came from Darcy.

“Oh no! I forgot to send Daddy a letter!” she panics, bolting up to grab her computer. 

“Dar, what are you doing?” Harry questions as Darcy began furiously typing on the computer while tucking her phone between her ear and her shoulder. 

“Hello? Hi Uncle Zee! Yeah, I’m good. Yeah, Papa’s fine too… how are you? Good! I, uh, could you do something for me, pretty please?” Darcy begs onto the line, even making a pouting face, although Zayn couldn’t see. “Cool! I’m going to e-mail you a letter to Dad for Christmas. Could you make sure it gets to him by tomorrow?”

Harry’s stomach turns as the line goes silent for a moment, until a grin breaks out on Darcy’s face as she splutters thank you’s into the phone. Once she hung up with a beep, she fell back on the bed, sighing contently.

“Ah, _now_ it’s the best day ever.”


	10. Age 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well well, isn't Darcy gettin' old :P   
> I hope all of you lovely people are doing alright in that big world out there! I wonder what you guys are up to! :)

"Dad, that's the third sandwich you've given me." Darcy says suspiciously, eyeing the turkey sandwich Harry just plopped in front of her.

"You said you wanted a snack, didn't you?" Harry asks, bewildered. Darcy raises an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, I did, but that was a hour ago, and you've already given me one." Darcy states, looking pointedly at the empty plate beside her on the dining table with only bread crumbs remaining. “You sure you’re alright, Papa?” she asks, concerned.

Harry nods. “Of course, I just forgot. Work has been getting to me lately.” Harry says, and that is true, if the mountains of paperwork on his desk has anything to say about it. Darcy nods slowly, not sure whether to take his word for it. “Well, Papa, if you’re tired, make sure to take a rest.” she says, before going back to furiously typing on her laptop. Harry plops himself on the chair opposite to her, taking a bite out of the sandwich.

“Whatcha doing there?” Harry asks, chewing slowly. “School’s out. Shouldn’t you be relaxing?”

“I guess.”

“Then what are you up to?” Harry inquires, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing, Papa.” Darcy says not looking up.

“Well, it is winter break. The teachers didn’t give you homework, did they?” Harry asks, thinking back to the continuous piling work Darcy had been getting now that she was in year ten of secondary school. 

“I said _nothing_ , Papa.” Darcy states, her fingers hitting the keys harder on her laptop. Harry furrows his eyebrows. He had been waiting all year for some free time when Darcy would be out of school. There was only so much he could take of filling out paperwork and dawdling around the living room alone. 

“Come on, Dar Dar,” Harry presses, pouting. “There’s no school. Don’t you think we’re a little overdue on family time-”

“How about you come back when you get us a family?” Darcy snaps.

_“I can’t believe we’re going to be a family.” Louis murmurs, gazing blissfully at the sleeping Darcy he rocked in his arms. Harry swears if he smiles anymore, his face will tear apart. Suddenly, Louis’ breaks his trance from Darcy, staring at Harry with wonder._

_“Let’s have more.”_

_“More?” Harry chuckles at the excitement written across Louis’ face. “I thought you wanted to take it slow?” Harry teases, remembering how eager he himself was to adopt Darcy. Louis had been a little hesitant at first, but immediately caved in when the adoption center set Darcy into his arms._

_“Slow shmo! I don’t want my child thinking I’m a grandpa!” Louis exclaims rather loudly, with Harry shushing him up. They stand in silence in the newly baby blue painted nursery. Harry stared fondly at Darcy’s rosy cheeks, caught in a trance of Darcy rocking back and forth._

_“Anne.” Harry says, breaking the silence._

_“What?”_

_“Anne.” Harry states, louder. “We’ll name the next girl Anne.”_

_A smile breaks out across Louis’ face, mapping out several crinkles by his eyes._

_“I can’t wait, Harry. I can’t wait.”_

“Papa, I-I’m sorry.” 

“W-wha?” Harry stutters, shaking his head out of his trance.

“I’m sorry.” Darcy says again, her voice trembling. Her laptop was now completely shut and pushed away, blue eyes staring intently at Harry. “I’m sorry I said that. I don’t know what I was-”

“No, no. It’s alright.” Harry says, shaking his head. “You’re right. We can’t have family time without family-”

“No, Papa! This is our family! It’s just you, me, and Charlotte, and it’ll always be just us. It was wrong for me to ask for more.” Darcy says, her voice breaking. “I don’t care how small our family is, but it’ll always be enough for me.”

Darcy blows out a shuddering breath, her eyes red and teary. It’s been a long time since Harry has seen Darcy cry, for Darcy had never quite much for tears. It reminds Harry a lot of when Louis cried. Harry could hardly remember a time when Louis would have tear stains running down his cheeks, but when they did, it felt as if a solid brick wall Harry had leaned on for years just collapsed. It was a reminder that even the thickest and tallest walls could collapse.

“How about I fix us some warm milk, Darling.” Harry says warmly, as Darcy nods feverishly. He eases out of his seat to the kitchen, grabbing two cups from the cupboard and taking the milk out of the fridge. When he finishes heating the milk, he carries the two steamy mugs back over, sitting down across from Darcy. In silence, they both take tentative sips of the hot drink. 

“Thanks, Papa.” Darcy says after a moment of silence. Harry nods.

Later, once Harry carried the two empty mugs over to the sink, Darcy found her way back in front of the laptop. It was nearly midnight when Harry checked back up on her to find Darcy asleep in front of the keyboard. Harry lifted Darcy up into his arms, wincing at the slight creak in his bones. Open on the laptop was a simple word document.

_Dear Dad,_ it read, and it was all Harry needed to know.


	11. Age 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so WARNING! This chapter is more graphic (depending on your preferences) than the other chapters. So, it could be disturbing for some, or not disturbing at all, depending on who you are. Anywho, enjoy :)

_Harry shot up from his cot at the deep wail outside, his head darting around, but there was nothing. He swore he heard it, but then again, he's already heard it in his head several times. In the dark, there was nothing but the harsh pitter patter of rain as it splat against the window, some drops hitting the wood floor through the broken glass. Whispery breathing came from the two other figures beside him on the large cot spread on the floor, much slower and steadier than Harry's raspy gasps. Minutes pass as Harry's heart raced, listening for any confirmation that he had in fact heard an undead outside._

_There was nothing._

_Harry breathes out a sigh of relief, slumping back down on the mattress just as the figure farthest from him on the bed props himself up._

_"Harry?" the silhouette whispers. A crash of thunder booms outside, and a streak of lightening lets Harry catch a glimpse of Louis' sleep ridden eyes. "You alright?"_

_Harry was breathing much calmer than before and started to say yes, until his blood froze at the same deep wail coming from beyond the window. It sounded like a wounded human, except warped into a desperate hungry whine._

_Harry's eyes darted to Louis, who was frozen where he was propped up. It wasn't until a third whine, sounding even more desperate, that Louis ever so silently eased himself up from the mattress onto the floorboards of the abandoned mansion. In his socked feet, Louis tiptoed to the corner of the room, snatching up the silhouette of a pistol._

_In the dark, Harry's hand searched around for the wooden baseball bat that he kept at the foot of the mattress. Beside him, Darcy's breaths still came slow and steady. Her brown locks of hair were fanned out across the stiff pillow, her face at sweet peace soaking in the moonlight._

_"Dar Dar." Harry whispered, nudging Darcy's shoulder gently. She murmured quietly for a second, before nodding back asleep. "Dar Dar." Harry said more urgently, this time her blue eyes shooting open._

_"Papa?" she whispered, her voice raspy from sleep. She looked at him questioningly before a sharp shriek pierced the air. This time it wasn't from the window._

_In the moment Darcy shot up, loud sloppy footsteps resonated from where the front door of the mansion once stood, torn down when Harry had arrived. From the white light of lightning, Harry made out the long bat at the end of the cot, and grasped it, just as the door to their small room was teared down with a sharp _crack!__

_Before Harry even stood, the first undead flew back, flying into possibly three more behind it. In another crack of lightening, Harry made out the decayed face of the undead in the pearly white light, possibly once a woman, with a smoking bullet hole in her chest._

_Shrieks filled the room as the first undead threw itself at Harry in blinded hunger. With a swing of his bat, he clocked it's head, slamming it into the corner of the room. Apparently little league wasn't a complete waste of time._

_Harry definitely had miscounted, as four more undead scrambled through the doorway, wailing. Adrenaline raced through Harry's blood as one charged at him, another at Louis behind him. Another shot of the pistol rang throughout the night, as Harry raised his bat for another swing._

_Tonight was a night of miscalculation, for as Harry lifted the bat, the undead dived at Darcy behind Harry as another charged through the door, leaping onto Harry._

_"PAPA!" Harry heard just as sharp claws dug into his back as the undead clung on, eager to rip any shred off Harry. Harry himself screamed in pain as he felt his skin ripping apart on his back._

_"Darcy!" Louis yelled, just as a shot fired and the body clinging onto Harry slumped to the ground. Louis fired another shot into the shoulder of the undead that tackled Darcy, sending it crumpling._

_Harry was knelt on the ground, the fresh pain in his back sending white spots brighter than lightning swimming in his vision. He turned his head to see a wild look of fear in Darcy's blue eyes, lying on the ground with bloodstains on her plain loose shirt. Louis shoved her behind him as another wailing undead tackled him to the ground. Darcy shrieked, as the pistol flew from Louis' hands, landing a few feet from Harry._

_The undead was much larger than Louis, as it fought to cling to any shred of Louis under him. Harry could make out Darcy's blue eyes overcome with frantic horror in his head as he tried to stand up, immediately collapsing back down. Instead, Harry reached a blood soaked arm with long deep scratches towards the pistol that looked so close yet was so far away. Right as Harry's fingertips grazed the cool metal, a deafening cry of pure pain resonated through the room, followed by Darcy's high pitched bloodcurdling scream._

_A solid weight landed on top of Harry before he could move, claws digging into his shoulders. He struggled to topple the weight of the undead off of him, only to shift his head and scream._

_The mattress, filled with peaceful slumber only minutes ago was now pooled with red as Louis lied unmoving on top, his side teared open. Harry could feel vomit rising from his gut before he is greeted by the sight of an undead grabbing Darcy's throat, and then-_

_"DARCY!"_

_A blinding crack of thunder echoed outside, as lightning tears a white opening in the sky._

And everything is soft.

Harry gasps for breath as he is met with the image of the pastel stripes of his pillowcase beneath his cheek. With his ear pressed against the pillow, thumping heartbeats echo in his head, sweat trickling down his neck. Harry jumps as a thundercrack booms outside along with the heavy rain pounding on the rooftops.

Although it is winter, Harry's legs are slick with sweat, sticking to the covering of the mattress beneath him. As his breath finally slowed down, Harry flipped over, turning to the red digits on his nightstand.

2:35.

Harry grimaced, knowing it was too late to go back to sleep yet too early to wake up. Nonetheless, Harry knew he wasn't going back to sleep, and flipped off the front covers, the night air cooling his sweaty legs. Quietly, he slipped off his bed, easing open the bedroom door and padding to the kitchen. He nearly screamed bloody murder at the figure on the ground, leaning lazily against the dish washer.

"Darcy!" Harry yelped, jumping. "What in the world are you doing?"

Darcy burst into giggles from her position on the floor. She was in her pajamas, a mug clutched between her hands.

"Papa! You should have seen the look on your face." she smirks, as Harry stared dumbfounded. She gives him a curious glance, before realizing they were both in the kitchen at nearly three in the morning. "Oh, right. I just couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd fix myself some warm milk."

Harry continues to stare at her. Darcy cocks her head.

"So, what are _you_ doing?"

"Do you always have trouble sleeping?" Harry asks, not changing the topic. He wasn't sure whether to scold Darcy for this, since there was never quite a rule in the house against drinking milk at three in the morning. Darcy sighs, looking awfully tired for not being able to fall asleep. But then again, it's always not being able to fall asleep that is the most exhausting.

"Sometimes. I didn't want to wake you." is all Darcy offers, before patting the space beside her. Harry wants to press farther, but it's too late to think clearly. "The washer's still warm from tonight! It's awfully comforting to lean against. Might as well tell me why you're up." Darcy chimes cheerily. Harry sighs, reaching to the cupboard for a cup.

"Alright. Let me fix a milk first." Harry says, as Darcy hesitates, before speaking up.

"Uhh, Papa. That cupboard is for plates."

Sure enough, when Harry opens it, it is stacked with dishes and not a cup in sight. Harry kept a straight face as he moved to the cup cupboard, feeling Darcy's intense stare on the back of his neck.

"I'm not going to pity you, Papa." Darcy murmurs softly. Harry grunts, opening the fridge for milk. He pours the white liquid in silence, before slipping the mug into the microwave. He stares as the cup spun around and around. With a beep, the spinning stops, as Harry carefully lifted the mug out of the microwave, settling it between his palms as he slides down next to Darcy.

"Well," Darcy says, as Harry blows curling steam from the drink "what's kept you up?"

Harry takes a tentative sip, swallowing the warm liquid. A little too hot, but it'll do. "Bad dream." Harry says. Darcy stares inquisitively at Harry.  
"About what?" Darcy presses gently. Harry stops in thought for a moment, before shaking his head irritably.

"I don't remember."

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air as Harry seeps in his own frustration. Darcy hated when Harry got like this, and recently, it had been more and more.

"... Papa?" Darcy says tentatively, nudging Harry's shoulder gently. "It's okay to forget dreams. That has nothing to do with the Alzheimer's. People forget dreams all the time."

Harry grunts, taking another sip of the milk. Darcy sighs, looking at the floor.  
"Papa, I wish you wouldn't blame yourself for this. It's not your fault you don't remember." Darcy says, before smiling. "Besides, it was a nightmare. No one wants to remember those anyway."

Harry chuckles, scooting closer to Darcy. Their slow soft breaths fill the room, stirring a feeling of unsettling in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"Actually..." Harry pauses, "I think I remember some of it. Not what actually happened, but the feeling of being in it." Harry blushes, feeling overdramatic. Darcy doesn't seem to care.

Darcy nods. "What did it feel like?"

Harry stops to think, bringing the warm lip of the mug to his chin. He remembered it being peaceful, like he had everything. And then it was empty, as if all of it was torn away from him, gone forever, and Harry would never be able to change that. All his life, Harry had wished for another lifetime, where there could be three pairs of arms embracing him and Charlotte snuggled at his feet. A family of five: Harry, Louis, Darcy, Anne, and Charlotte. But whatever he dreamed, it was a world where he might not have even had himself, and he couldn't shake that feeling away, even after he woke up.

"It felt empty. Empty in a way I could never replace." Harry says, staring at his warped reflection in the milk.

_And it felt like I lost everything. It felt like I lost you._

Darcy sets her empty mug onto the kitchen floor, and then envelopes Harry in a crushing hug he didn't know Darcy could muster. A little bit of the milk in Harry's cup slops off the rim, dribbling down the side, but he doesn't mind. 

"Well, Papa, just know that in real life, you've got me right here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are confused, read comments for explanation... sorry if it was! Thank you for reading


	12. Age 16

“Who the bloody hell are you?”

Darcy froze mid-step on her way down the stairs, her knuckles white from clutching the banister. Harry stood in the front doorway, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder from work. He stared at Darcy shocked with his mouth gaping open. Darcy stared back, unmoving.

“...P-papa?” she stuttered carefully, her voice trembling. “Are you alright?”

Harry started back at her, eyes wide. “Papa? I don’t have children! What are you doing in my house?” Harry says, lost. Although he was very much a children person, he didn’t expect to see possibly a sixteen year old girl sneaking down his stairs when he got home. But yet, he wasn’t exactly sure what he expected when he arrived home.

“You’re house? You mean our house! Papa, it’s me, Darcy!” Darcy exclaims, “I’m your daughter!” she says, her voice strained. Her eyes scan for any glimpse of recognition on Harry’s face, but only confusion was mapped across his features.

“I don’t know any Darcy’s, and I certainly don’t have a daughter. I don’t know who you are, so please get out of my house before I call the police.” Harry states, not sure what this girl was trying to do. He sure wasn’t going to wait to find out.

“No, Papa! You can’t kick me out of my own house! It’s almost Christmas! What are you doing to me?” the girl full on sobs, and Harry’s heart wrenches. His head thuds with confusion, but he holds the door wide open.

“Please, leave. Return to your family, young lady.” Harry says, watching as the girl stays put, sobbing. “Now.” Harry adds. He hates being this way to children, but his own spine was tingling with unease now, and he did not like it one bit.

Darcy ambles down the stairs, making sure her phone was tucked in her jeans pocket before stepping into her shoes by the doorway, feeling Harry’s stare cut like glass into the back of her neck. With one look back, she meets Harry’s green eyes, swimming with confusion. She steps out onto the concrete steps of the porch, and into the cold winter air.

“Papa…” she tries one last time, before the front door she’s known for years slams in her face. She stares at the wreath hanging on the door swinging side to side, one that she and Harry had just bought together last week. It was ordained with pine cones and red ribbons, and smelled crisp like the icy winter air.

Darcy steps off the house property just in case Harry was still watching from inside, and slowly walks to the end of the street, opening up her contacts on her phone. She scrolls to the first number, and dials. It is picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Uncle Li? Could you pick me up? I need your help.”

********************************************************************************************************

Harry shakes his head, sliding off his bag and slumping down onto the couch. He sighs in content as his spine eases out it’s creaks from hunching over on his desk all day. He rests his eyes for a moment, savoring the silence that was oh so absent in the office. Harry scrunches his forehead. Somehow, the silence didn’t feel quite right.

Harry still hasn’t erased the horrified expression on the girl’s face from his mind, and he knew he wasn’t about to. He sits up, staring at where the girl had grasped so tightly on the banister, before easing off the couch and ambling quickly up the steps. The first room on the second floor had its door open ajar, and Harry peeks in.

Harry recognizes this room. But, for the life of him, he could not explain why he had a girl’s room covered with boy band posters and floral drapes. The bed covers were a creamy mint color, and a fuzzy pink rug was spread out across the carpet. Harry knew this room. He saw it everyday. But why did he have this room unless…

No way. Harry shakes his head. He swears on his life that he does not have a daughter. It was silly to even question that. But, if what the girl said was true, then everything would make sense.

Harry’s eyes catch Charlotte at the foot of the bed, napping. A smile eases upon his lips at the familiarity of something for once. The gold furred dog slumbered cozily on the pink rug, and Harry would have loved to curl down right next to her. It would have made quite a sight, with him in his business suit sprawled next to a fluffy dog on the fuzzy pink carpet. 

Although Harry didn’t quite lay down, he did sink onto the floor, gently ruffling Charlotte’s fur while on his knees. It wasn’t until then that Harry caught the laptop wide open on the rug, it’s battery nearly drained. It was simply open to a document, the cursor blinking lonesomely at Harry.

 _Dear Dad,_ the document read, and that was all it said. Harry frowned, shutting the lid of the laptop. Dread curled in the pit of his stomach, but Harry shook it off, and ambled out of the room and back down the stairs as quickly as he could.

********************************************************************************************************

“... Papa?”

Harry jolts awake on the couch, realizing he must have dozed off. He looks up to see Darcy standing at the front door, hesitant, but staring at him expectantly.

“Hey, Dar Dar. What are you doing there?” Harry inquires skeptically. They had a solid rule in the house that leaving must be notified with at least a note. Darcy had never left without a post-it tacked onto the fridge, and it was Christmas eve. There wasn’t even many places to go, with everyone celebrating at home. And when did Darcy leave anyway? Harry had been home all day. Surely he would have heard the creaky front door. “Well?” Harry urges, raising an eyebrow. Darcy stands still, awfully tense for a moment, before her eyes soften

“I was just out for a walk, Papa.” she says, smiling ruefully. 

“Well,” Harry repeats, tightening his lips, “be safe out there. I don’t want anything bad happening to you on Christmas eve.”

Darcy gives him a weak smile, and Harry’s heart twists. Something was wrong, he was sure of it, but he didn’t know what. He wanted nothing more than to just take the shadows that clung to Darcy’s eyes and cast them far far away. He hated how their conversation was so simple, yet did not make an ounce of sense. 

“I love you, Papa.” Darcy whispers, and Harry nearly doesn’t hear. He stares at her perplexed. Like any father and daughter, they exchanged the “I love you’s,” but never so out of the blue.

“Please don’t forget.” she adds softly, before silently scrambling up the stairs and shutting her door with a click. The house is silent, save for the occasional whistle of the wind outside. It’s lonelier than Harry’s ever felt.

“I’ll never forget, Dar Dar. Never.” Harry says, the whisper in his voice resonating throughout the living room, as if calling all the lonely shadows out to join him. 

Later that night, after a quiet dinner, Harry digs in his closet. He throws old coats onto the bed and shoves buckets of trinkets to the side. The thick scent of mothballs hung in the air, along with years old dust. It’s been nearly half an hour of digging, and Harry’s in the last cardboard box shoved in the corner. He knew it was in here somewhere- aha!

Harry salvages an old silver camera out of the box, feeling the familiar smooth buttons beneath the pad of his thumb. He gives the power button a shot, surprised as the screen jumps to life, with the camera still half full with batteries. 

Without any search, the photo Harry needs is the first to pop up; the last one he took. It’s a bit grainy, with the light being a bit dark and the camera unstable, but it’s still the same photo of him and Darcy, with her hair pulled back in her eight year-old pigtails during the Christmas time. Darcy’s smile revealed two rows of pearly whites, save for one in the corner that had just fallen out. Her blue eyes sparkle, and it makes Harry’s heart clench, wondering what he could have done to make that sparkle stay.

Then Harry stares at himself on the screen. His past self looked pretty much the same, except for the absence of the shallow crinkles that just started to map out across his features. His eyes were wide open in the picture, surprise flashing across his face. Harry let out a humorous exhale, realizing just how much time has passed since then. _Eight years,_ Harry thinks. _Eight fucking years of this life._ The only thing that changed and mattered in his life in that time was Darcy, and Harry could only pray it was for the better. 

It was nearly midnight, and the ticking of the clock could be heard throughout the house. Harry stayed kneeling on the closet floor, staring at the expression plastered on his former self amusingly, pondering what in the world had made him so surprised.

NOTE: Alzheimer’s is a degenerative disease of the brain. By building plaques in the brain, it causes memory loss. Harry has early onset Alzheimer’s, thus why he is so young with the disease. This disease causes memory loss of both short term and long term memories. However, sometimes the memory loss is only temporary, explaining why Harry was able to recognize Darcy later on. A lot of times there are just pieces missing, which is why Harry forgot Darcy but remembered her room and Charlotte. This video inspired me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZiRHyzjb5SI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's showing up next ;)  
> Btw, I also have this story on Wattpad, but the cover is terrible. If by any chance any of you lovely souls are good at cover stuff, please! I need help!
> 
> :)


	13. Age 17

When Harry wakes up, the other side of the bed is cold. In fact, the sheets are crisply folded in place, save for a few wrinkles Harry probably made himself. Harry feels the corners of his lips fold into a smile. Today was one of those days when Louis actually beat Harry out of bed, not to mention he actually took the time to arrange the sheets.

Harry stretches his limbs, his toes brushing the cold post of the bed, before peeling off the sheets. The red digits of the clock read eight-thirty, and slivers of sunlight had already began to slip through the window blinds. The bright strips of light fall on Harry’s skin, warming up his legs and brushing away the goosebumps. With a yawn, he hopped off the bed and tugged on the pair of sweats and a t-shirt lying on the small armchair in the corner, before padding softly to the kitchen. 

“Lou?” Harry chimed quietly, swinging through the kitchen doorway, expecting to see Louis snuggled criss-cross on a breakfast table chair, a warm mug of yorkshire wrapped between his hands. Instead, Darcy sat cross legged at the table, her brown hair swept up in a lazy bun, still lounging in her pajamas. 

“Mornin’ Papa.” she greeted, looking up from her sloppily buttered toast. The waft of sweet butter made Harry’s stomach stir with hunger, leading him straight to the bread bin to pull out two slices of bread.

“Mornin. Did you sleep well?” Harry asks, sliding the two slices of bread into the toaster. Darcy nods, taking a sip of her juice. “Had a good dream. Don’t really remember what, but I woke happy.”

Harry chuckles. “I know what you mean.” Harry agrees, thinking back to when he was five, and couldn’t make a single friend that first day of school. That night, he dreamed of moving with his mother and sister to a town in the mountain side, clusters of trees sculpted along the road and flowing streams carved out in the woods. He had walked down the street, looking down, before bumping into a grinning freckled girl his age. He made a friend that night, and woke up with a smile curved on his lips. Then he frowned, knowing he lost a friend too. But, as they say, it is better to have loved and lost than to have never have loved at all. 

Harry’s toast springs out of the toaster, causing Harry to jump the slightest in surprise. Darcy snickers quietly. Harry pouts at her, as he rummages the fridge for butter.

“Have you seen your Dad this morning? If he’s out for groceries, we need more butter, cause _someone_ used it all.” Harry accuses, peeking his head from behind the fridge door. Darcy gives him a funny look, and Harry cocks an eyebrow back. “What?” Harry laughs, but Darcy presses her lips together into a thin line.

“Have I… seen Dad? This morning?” Darcy questions slowly, not meeting Harry’s eyes. Harry fights the uneasy curling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah. He usually doesn’t wake up this early.” Harry simply states, shutting the fridge door slowly. Fear slowly clouds up his mind, as he stared at Darcy. “Is there anything wrong?”

Darcy remains quiet. The kitchen is silent except for the hum of the dishwasher from last night’s dinner. Harry watches carefully as Darcy bites her lip, hesitating. Harry shifts his weight onto his left foot, his palms starting to sweat with no reason. The kitchen has never felt so desolate as in this moment. The warm colored wood of the breakfast table that always reminded Harry of the sunrise now looked overly glossy and too bright. The floral drapes that hung over the window always brought a bit of spring into the room, but now they looked out of place in the otherwise solid colored kitchen, which Harry guesses they’ve always had. Even the sunlight dripping through the windows and onto the cherrywood floor seemed suffocatingly bright. Everything felt wrong. Even the blank expression on Darcy’s face seemed wrong.

Darcy clears her throat, her spare slice of toast completely ignored. She still kept her eyes away from Harry, staring ahead. “Papa. You know how you have Alzheimer’s?” she starts. Harry’s heart drops, not liking where this was going, but nods nonetheless. “Well, uh,” she says casually, but her voice trembles, and both of them notice. She pauses for a moment, before continuing. “Dad… left. A while ago. You,” she says, inhaling deeply, “you just forgot. Because of the Alzheimer’s.”

Harry’s mind buzzes. 

_He left._

_But he was just next to me last night!_

_But he left._

_A while ago._

_You forgot._

Harry can feel the brush of Louis’ lips on his own, the tickle of his feathery hair against his ear when he nibbles by his throat. He feels the buzz of electricity he gets each time the pads of his fingers brush over Louis’ skin, and the impossibility of pulling away once his green eyes met Louis’ blue. He just felt all that last night. _But he left. You just forgot._

“Papa? You alright?”

Harry snaps his head up to Darcy, where she now stared at him uneasily. Harry knows what to say, and his mouth forms the words he knows will put this behind them, but _no,_ Harry’s not fucking okay, and he sure as hell won’t ever be okay, even if it all did make sense.

“I-I… but he was here last night.” Harry chokes out, feeling his fingers shake. “He can’t be gone… there’s no reason to leave.” Harry states, but it comes out more as a question. Darcy sighs, scooting off her chair and stepping closer to Harry. Unconsciously, Harry leans away, and Darcy notices, stopping. Harry knows he should apologize, open his arms wide, and let Darcy run in and comfort her like the adult he is, but all he wants is _his_ arms. He wants the body that tucks perfectly into his, and the skinny but strong arms that would reach up and cup his cheeks, pulling Harry’s head down to gently tug at his curls, smiling into his lips. But Harry’s a selfish asshole, who can’t even swallow his grievances to comfort his own daughter. Whatever Harry did in his past life must have been hell to put him here, and Harry can’t believe he’s still not making up for his faults, whatever they were. There were people out there sacrificing their lives for their country, and Harry couldn’t even fucking open his arms for his daughter.

“... Papa?” Darcy starts, hesitant. Harry musters the willpower to lift his head up, meeting Darcy’s eyes, flickering between him and the floor. She shuffles her feet uncomfortably, shifting her weight slightly, hands tucked behind her back. “Would you…. would you like to go see Dad?” she blurts out quickly. For a second Harry doesn’t register, until he finds himself nodding.

“I’ll drive.” Darcy nods, shuffling quickly to her room to change clothes.

***

The drive is quiet, and not the comfortable kind. Harry never thought he’d be uncomfortable with Darcy, ever. But, as Harry learned, being a parent is full of surprises. They’re not always good ones either.

Darcy’s grip on the wheel is tight, her knuckles turning white. Harry tugs nervously the whole ride on his seat belt, watching as Darcy took familiar turns in the streets, before the familiarity melted away, and the drove further away from the city. The road turned to gravel, and the sun that had poured onto Harry’s lap was shaded by the thick trees overhead. They move slowly, feeling every bump and crack along the countryside road. Splintery wooden fences line in front of the trees, as if they were in charge of keeping the trees from frolicking onto the road like deer. Harry itches to roll down the window and turn off the cold wet air blasting in his face from the air conditioner, but his sweaty palms are too shaky to move. 

The car slows to a stop, pulling to the side of the gravel road. All Harry sees outside his window is tall rolling grass for miles on end. With a sweep of the wind, they roll like waves in a green ocean, glinting with in the sun. They both shuffle out of the car, the warm air of the approaching summer caressing their cheeks, painting them a rosy shade. Darcy rounds the car, stepping straight off the gravel road and into the grassy fields in her sneakers. Harry follows steadily, trusting Darcy to know where she was going. The grass tickles Harry’s ankles from where his skin peeked out between his shoes and jeans. He keeps his vision traced on the ground, watching how the soil crunched beneath his shoes. He’s not sure where Darcy’s taking them, but there’s nothing left for him if he doesn’t follow Darcy.

For the past few minutes, they had been walking in a straight line until Darcy takes a turn, nearing a tall oak tree, the bountiful branches shading a circumference around the thick trunk. Harry ambles behind her curiously, lagging off by a few steps. He watches as she steps into the shade and near the trunk of the tree, kneeling down. Harry steps closer, catching faint words.

“Hey, Dad. How have you been?” 

Harry freezes, standing right on the line between the sun and the shade.

“I’ve been good. Not great, but good enough. I guess that’s all I really should look for.”

Harry knows Darcy is smiling in that wistful way she has mastered in the past few years since he was diagnosed. It was a smile of love and loss, and Harry couldn’t help but let the panging guilt tug that he was partly responsible. 

“Dad… I brought Papa today. He hasn’t visited since he was diagnosed, but I thought it’d be good for him to get out some more.” Darcy says, and Harry could hear a wider grin to her voice. 

Harry steps closer. And closer. And closer. He steps until he right next to Darcy, and kneels down beside her. Underneath the shade, the air is cool but fresh, and the rustle of leaves above is harmonized by the melodic chirp of birds. 

Littering all over the ground as if a ring around Harry and Darcy are dark leaves. It takes a second glance for Harry to realize they were scraps of paper. They fluttered in the wind, had been torn apart by rain, and darkened by the soil. 

Envelopes. They were envelopes.

“Papa, say hi.” Darcy murmurs softly, casting her eyes to the fluttering envelopes. Harry keeps his eyes trained on the torn papers, his eyes slowly gliding to the newer ones that still retained some of it’s white color. But he can’t look up. Harry just can’t look up. It’s like an iron grip has clenched around Harry’s chin, twisting his head away, and Harry’s not putting up a fight.

_“Harry! Harry! I want you to meet my friend Louis. Louis, Harry. Harry Louis.”_

_“Hi! I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson. I’m kinda new, so lovely Niall here has been showing me around… uh, you alright, mate?”_

_“Psst! Harry! Say something-”_

_“-ohmygodyoursobeautiful.”_

_“What?”_

_“I-I, uh, I meant, gah. Hi.”_

_“Hi who?”_

_“Harry. Harry Styles.”_

_“Lovely! See you around, Harry!”_

_“Ha, looks like someone’s got the hots-”_

_“Shut up, Niall!”_

“Papa.” Darcy catches his attention, and Harry closes his eyes, feeling the iron grip peel away, and his mind regain control. His fingers stop shaking, and his shoulders relax. _It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,_ He repeats in his mind. Harry inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of oaky air, and exhales, his eyelids fluttering open. 

_Here Lies Louis Tomlinson_  
_Loving son, brother, father, and husband_  
_May he rest in peace_

 

“Hi Louis.” Harry whispers, his voice raspy from not talking. Darcy sighs in relief next to him. Harry’s mind claws for all the unsaid things over the years to say, but he draws a blank, his mouth hanging open. Didn’t he have so much to say? Where did all those things go? Why did he even care anymore? It wasn’t as if he was going to get answers.

Darcy clears her throat. “Papa hasn’t been here for a while-”

“-He’s gone.”

“What?” Darcy leans in, and Harry could smell the sweet waft of the fruity shampoo she used.

“H-he’s gone, Darcy.” Harry chokes, staring at the stone before him. “He’s dead, and you’re talking to a stone. A fucking stone-”

“Well it’s not like I can talk to you!” Darcy shrieks and Harry jumps in surprise. He twists toward her to see tears beading up and trickling down her cheeks. She brings her hands up to swipe them away, but more just follow, making the skin by her eyes red and irritable. “Don’t look at me like that! You’re always doing that! Just stop-”

“Stop what?” Harry exclaims flustered, throwing his hands up into the air. 

“Stop giving me that look. That horrible pitying look you give me like I’m some poor forsaken child, but then you still do nothing!” Darcy shouts between sobs. Her voice doesn’t resonate very loudly above the constant stream of sounds from nature, but it cuts straight in Harry’s chest.

“What do you mean 'I don’t do anything'? I do things everyday for you! Money and food doesn’t just appear, you know.” Harry presses, earning a frustrated cry from Darcy.

“You just don’t get it! I’ve been fucking talking my feelings to my dead dad for twelve years because the one that’s actually alive spends more time moping about what could have been rather than actually listening to me-” Darcy inhales sharply “-and you wouldn’t even give me an explanation to why Dad died. I had to follow you one night cause I wanted to see Dad, only to have you drive to a fucking gravestone.”

“I need to walk alone.” Harry states, pushing up from the ground, walking back towards the gravel.

“Fine! Leave me like you always do! With my dead Dad who definitely talks back when I talk to him!” Darcy sobs hard from beneath the tree. “Just keep pretending he’s the missing member of our family when it’s actually you!”

Harry stops abruptly. He scrunches closed his eyes, willing the sobs behind him to just go away. He wills the blackness behind his eyes to engulf him forever. No, Harry doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t want to live either. He just wants to cease to exist. To disappear. If only Alzheimer’s could make him forget himself. But forgetting himself would be forgetting a part of Louis, his mom, Gemma, Zayn, Liam, Niall, and Darcy. They trusted him to hold that part of them, and however the hell Harry may have messed up in his past lives, he sure as hell isn’t going to let it happen again. He turns on his heel, and ambles briskly back to Darcy, feeling the shade of the tree once again enveloping over him, and he catches Darcy’s faint whisper above the wind.

“Dad, do you think Papa loves me?”

Harry approaches her kneeling figure, and walks around, standing in front of her. Darcy whips her head up, staring at Harry with piercing blue eyes, her cheeks blotchy, with dried tears trailing down her face, matting down stray strands of hair. He bends down, scooping her into a tight embrace. He lets her sob loudly in the collar of his shirt, feeling her arms grip tightly into his back. He treasures each tear that stains his shirt, and each sob that racks through her frame. He catches the scent of her fruity shampoo, one she has used all her life. Harry tries to imprint the feeling of her solid figure in his arms, because this is his one life with Darcy. There may be a million more out there where he could be a thousand times richer, a thousand times happier, and spend a thousand lives with Louis, but this is his one life with Darcy, and he wasn’t going to let it go dreaming of another. 

Harry smooths Darcy’s hair with one hand, the other wrapped around her back.

“Of course Papa loves you, Dar Dar. Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave Kudos if you like and comment below! Thank you so much for reading, and there's still one more chapter left! AHH! Happy summer to those getting out of school :)


	14. Not Scared of Love

When Harry wakes up, the other side of the bed is cold, and his arms grasp for an embrace that is met with thin air. It takes a moment to realise the soreness in the corners of his mouth is from smiling, and the stinging sticky skin by his eyes is from tears. In the silence, Harry feels as if he could hear the sun rising outside his window, waking up the world with its drips of soft sunlight. A patch of the white light slips through his window blinds, settling warmly on the exposed skin of his shoulder.

It’s one of those mornings where Harry wakes up with his body in the right bed but his mind in the wrong world. It’s where he feels as if he didn’t sleep a wink the night before, yet his muscles are relaxed as ever. It’s a typical morning after a dream, where everything in his head is a blurry haze, slowly surfacing throughout the day by the oddest of triggers. 

Harry sweeps the sheets off to the side, the cold morning air biting his bare skin. Goosebumps ruffle up his arms as he anxiously searches for the pair of sweats and the t-shirt he tossed aside the night before. He finds them shoved in the corner of the small armchair, wondering how long it has been since he last washed them. Harry has always thought himself to be quite neat, but he’s been feeling rather lost these past few months, and the cluster in his head has apparently spread to his surroundings. It isn’t as if the house has completely turned over, but mugs sit with stains in the sink, recycling and garbage both mix together in the waste basket, and clothes are shoved crumpled up into his dresser. The house could possibly be considered in tip top shape by some people (particularly Harry’s college roommate) but to Harry, everything was all in a slight disarray.

Harry tugs the sweats on, before shuffling from the fuzzy worn carpet of his bedroom to the waxy cold hardwood floor of the kitchen. Since the two kitchen windows behind the breakfast table faced the other side of the house, barely any light flood in. Harry chuckles, as stray memories of his dream solidify. Harry wasn’t sure if it was just him, but his dreams were always filled with the same images of his workplace, his bedroom, the kitchen-all the familiar places were there, but mixed with odd whimsical details here and there. For instance, if Harry remembers correctly, the refrigerator in his dream was a walk in, revealing a whole icy cavern of shelves upon shelves of food. Somehow, it all made sense in his dream. Now it just seems bizarre. 

Harry starts the kettle and leans against the stove as he always does while preparing his morning tea. His eyes drift to the empty mugs that sit in the sink, some overturned and others stacked. He lets out a sigh, before pushing away from the stove and to the sink, turning on the tap water and cupping his hands underneath, waiting for the cool water to steadily warm up. His eyes drift over the mugs, and he feels a tug of familiarity in his gut. Harry’s mind swarms with the memory of warmth against his back, and a hot mug clasped between his hands. _Warm milk,_ Harry thinks, _it was warm milk._ Harry scrunched his brows at the thought of warm milk. He’s always despised milk for it’s pungent fatty flavor. The only reason why there was ever milk in the fridge was for tea, since-

_No,_ Harry thinks, _Forget him. Forget him._

Once the water has heated up, Harry dips a soapy sponge under the faucet, targeting the first mug to scrub. All the while, the haze in his mind slowly clears up, as images from last night’s dream slowly draw back.

Harry remembers only traces of sensations: the warmth of a body tucked in his embrace, wetness seeping into the collar of his shirt, the itchy burn of carpet as he crawled on his knees, the rustle as scraps of white paper fluttered everywhere-so many sensations as clear as day and strong enough to make him cry, laugh, and smile, yet Harry just can’t seem to piece them together.

Once the sink is clear of mugs and the kettle whistles loud and clear, Harry pours himself a hot cup of tea, mixing in a spoonful of sugar, as he unashamedly hums a certain Mary Poppins tune. It is a Saturday, meaning no work and a quiet morning all to himself. Usually he would read one of the books that are always piled on the breakfast table, but his mind is a constant buzz, and his eyes would only glide meaninglessly across the page if he did pick one up. Instead, Harry pulls out a napkin from the dispenser, and uncaps a stray blue pen lying on the table.

_Warmth,_ Harry writes, conjuring up any word that his dream brought.

_Rosy cheeks_

_Flashes_

_Surprise_

_Snow_

_Cold_

_Fruity shampoo_

_Christmas_

_Santa_

_Reindeers_

_Elves_

_Danielle?_

_Diana?_

_Delilah?_

_Darcy._

_Darcy._

_Darcy._

Harry stares at the name. _Darcy._ He writes it again, in bold, with thick blocky letters. The ink blotches on the napkin and tears the paper, but no matter how hard Harry writes it, his mind draws a blank. “Darcy.” Harry says out loud, his voice breaking the long standing silence in the house. “Darcy, Darcy, Darcy.” Harry repeats, trying to squeeze anything out of his memory, but all that come up is a tightness in his chest, as if he’s lost something. It’s that feeling Harry gets after a good dream: a smile that it happened, but a desperate grasp at thin air for something that didn’t count and never existed. It’s like the world has given Harry something great, only to strip it away and say it never existed.

It’s been a few days since Harry has felt that clawing in his chest. The past few days weren’t necessarily good days, but work has kept Harry busy from his thoughts. Now, sitting alone in the quiet of his kitchen, the only thing to accompany Harry were his thoughts, and with his thoughts, that clawing in his chest, telling him he is trapped. 

Harry grasps the edge of the table, begging his mind to reconjure last nights dream. He gives a flustered groan, frustrated with why he even cares about his dream. It is only his imagination, and it won’t be affecting his actual life anytime soon. But the aching in his chest won’t leave. He knows that ache, that clawing in his chest. It’s all too familiar, that desire to be somewhere else, to be in another life, to be in another world-just anywhere but here. And now, he wishes to be in that dream, that hazy, blurry dream, instead of in his world of solid shapes and clear cut endings. He wasn’t sure why, but the name scrawled on the napkin holds everything that was in his dream. Whoever or whatever Darcy was, it made Harry warm, comfortable, alive, and _content_. And…

Harry scribbles another word onto the napkin before it could slip his mind:

_Afraid._

Harry is afraid. It’s not like the fear that made Harry cower under his covers when he was five, nor is it the fear that kept Harry and his sister up all night while his parents argued in the livingroom. It’s like the clenching fear of when Harry’s mother told Harry they were moving out from his father’s house, or the melancholy fear of when he moved into his new apartment, knowing he would never wake up to his mom flipping pancakes and his sister singing in the shower again. It was the fear of that with every change in Harry’s life, he would lose something old that made him happy. It was just like the fear-

_No,_ Harry berates himself. _Don’t think about him._

Harry lets his mind dart to anything other than _him,_ and instead of some meaningless thought on the weather or rewind of his agenda for the day, a clear melodic voice floods into his mind.

_“Well, Papa, just know that in real life, you’ve got me right here.”_

Harry crumples the napkin. He stands up, the chair squeaking as it slides behind him.

_”I love you, Papa.”_

Harry sloshes his tea into the sink. It had long gone cold, and the sugar had sunk to the bottom. 

_”Please don’t forget.”_

“I’ll never forget. Never.” Harry murmurs, as he grabs his car keys off the counter.

***

With each way Harry turns his head, he sees white. Everything was white. If an object wasn’t white, then it was grey. Somehow, even the air smelled of the color through it’s crisp scent that somehow smelt of nothing. If it didn’t smell of nothing, then it smelled of rubbing alcohol: grey.

Harry follows the woman clothed in a blue-ish grey scrub. A simple name tag pinned by her breast pocket read _Alicia,_ if Harry remembers correctly from when they were shaking hands. Already, Harry has forgotten what her face looked like, with only her backside facing Harry. Her sneakers squeak as she leads Harry down the hospital wing, and her dark curls, which were swept up into a ponytail, swish side to side as she walked. Harry nearly trips into her when she stops suddenly before a generic white door that resembles the countless of others that lined the entirety of the white hall.

“Mr. Styles, he may be asleep at the current moment. If the records are correct, you haven’t visited in a while. Louis may have changed since you last visited. Would you like a nurse to accompany you?” Alicia asks. Now that Harry has a full view of her face, she looks a lot younger than Harry expected; much too young to be dealing with countless of hardships that plagued the building.

“N-no… no.” Harry says, anxious and nervous to get in. The nurse nods, telling Harry to just holler for assistance if need be, before jiggling open the door, showing Harry in, and closing the door firmly behind him. 

A loud, mechanic inhale, followed by a whoosh are the first things Harry hears upon entering the room. The sound resonates crisply, sounding like a gust of fresh air, yet trapped in the confines of the room. Just like in the rest of the hospital, the walls are stark white, with every inch screaming sterile. Even the lights are incredibly bright, to a point where it almost hurt. Harry’s eyes automatically glue to the sleek tiles of the floor, unable to meet the white cot just a few feet infront of him. The whooshing breaths of the ventilator provide a steady breath marker as Harry breaths along with it, begging his mind to maintain calm. 

_”Please don’t forget.”_

Harry puts one foot in front of the other, and then another, and another, keeping his eyes on the scuffed toes of his shoes. Before long, he is standing in front of the white cot, eyes on the pale hand that peeks out from under the layers upon layers of white hospital sheets. With just the lift of the eyes away, Harry’s knees tremble from the proximity. It’s as if his body was a magnet, shaking against the forces to stay standing. Even with the room largely flooded with the scent of rubbing alcohol, Harry can _smell_ him. Although faint, there’s no mistaking the familiar sweet waft of citrus that has permanently been embedded into the cushions on the couch and the pillow on the other side of Harry’s bed.

_Just one glance,_ Harry thinks, _let’s start slow. Just one glance._

Harry flicks his eyes up, but once Harry’s eyes land on Louis’ face, he can’t look anywhere else.

Louis is as beautiful as the day Harry first met him. His cheekbones jut out high and sharp, creating a slight concavity in his cheeks. Even with the ventilator on, Harry could see Louis’ button nose, his pink thin lips, and the slight stubble that grazed his chin. Harry’s heart tugs at the lack of the feathery brown hair that would usually sweep over Louis’ forehead messily, now replaced with a knit maroon beanie. Harry himself had given Louis that beanie, once Louis’ hair had started falling out more frantically after his second chemo treatment. His skin was no longer a sun kissed tan, instead pale and translucent, making the veins beneath his skin more prominent. His figure looked smaller than ever, drowning beneath the layers of white sheets. Harry’s eyes glide over Louis’ eyelashes, knowing that if they just fluttered open, he would see-

“Hazza…?”

Harry nearly jumps at the small high-pitched voice breaking the steady metronome of the ventilator. It’s been so long since Harry has heard that voice. It always reminded him of silk, with it’s smooth velvety texture, while nonetheless strong. Although he swears the voice is locked permanently into his memory, nothing could replace actually hearing it in real life. From underneath his eyelids, Louis’ blue eyes sleepily peer at Harry, filled with confusion and a tinge of hope. It has felt like a lifetime since Harry has last seen those blue eyes, and he forgot how piercing they could be, even when just awaken. 

“Hey Lou.” Harry chokes up, and Louis eyes open wider upon and he startles upon realising Harry is actually there. 

“Haz, what are you…” Louis cuts off, as the ventilator whooshes again, “... doing here?”

Harry feels the guilt crawling up his spine and the tremble in his jaw as his eyes threaten to leak. He starts to speak, but chokes up again, as he feels tears blurring up in his eyes. Harry casts his eyes down to Louis’ hand, feeling the first tear tickle his cheek as it trickles from his eye. He jumps as Louis hand reaches out for his own. Louis’ palm in soft and cold, but yet it made Harry warmer than he has been for the past two months. 

“Don’t cry Haz… … I’m here… “

And Harry feels like shit. Louis’ the one that should be crying, but here he is, comforting Harry, who is spluttering like a baby, while a few months away from death. Here is Harry, clutching onto Louis’ hand like a lifeline and Louis holding him firmly when Harry has been too cowardly to even think about Louis for the past two months.

“Talk… … to me Harry. Pull up that chair.” Louis says, and Harry doesn’t realise how much he misses the way his name rolls off Louis’ tongue, sounding like “Harreh” with his Yorkshire accent. Harry wipes his hot tears with his sleeve and pulls the steel chair up next to the bed, sitting down with his back hunched over. 

“Talk to me.” Louis repeats, gazing at Harry. Harry lets out a long trembling exhale, before meeting Louis’ eyes.

“I-I… I’m s-so sorry.” Harry croaks. Although all his words and thoughts about Louis had been bottled up and prohibited for the past two months, Harry’s mind draws a blank on what to say. “I’m sorry.” he repeats softly, rubbing his thumb over Louis’ smaller hand. 

“I’m… … sorry too.” Louis murmurs, and Harry widens his eyes.

“Why?” Harry splutters. “You did nothing wrong!”

Louis smiles sadly, the ventilator whooshing before he could speak again. Harry expects to see frustration in Louis’ eyes at having to speak with the ventilator’s interruption. He remembers how Louis used to somehow rant threateningly with his gentle voice on and on, commanding Harry at his beckon. However, all Harry sees now is a tired acceptance of the unavoidable interruption.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t … …start a family.” Louis says with a broken voice, holding onto Harry’s hand tighter. 

“No, it’s not your fault. I was just thinking selfishly.” Harry objects, shaking his head profusely. A comfortable silence fills the room, with the ventilator almost like white noise in the background. 

“What would… … our family be like, Haz?” Louis finally speaks up quietly. Although they both know a future as a family together would never be possible, a flicker of excitement in Louis’ eyes pushes Harry to speak.

“Well, I think we’d have two daughters... “ Harry starts, as a smile slowly stretches across his lips. Louis’ eyes widen.

“Two daughters? How… … could we handle two… … when I can’t even handle you?” Louis teases.

“Shut up.” Harry blushes, before continuing. “No, we wouldn’t get them at the same time. We’d get one first, and she’d be the most beautiful girl we’ve ever seen. She’d have curly brown hair like me, and the prettiest blue eyes like you.”

“My eyes aren’t pretty… … they’re manly.” Louis mutters, as Harry laughs.

“And then we’d get another girl, two years later, and we’ll have to chase all the boys away when the grow up into bright, beautiful women.”

Louis stays quiet for a while, mulling over Harry’s words.

“What would we name them?” Louis asks, gazing curiously up at Harry.

“We’d name the second one Anne, like we’ve always said.” Harry declares, reminiscing of his mother of the same name. “And the first one… “ Harry trails off, thinking. They both ponder in a silence, brewing over various names in their heads.

“Darcy.” Louis prompts. Harry’s eyes widen, his mind reeling at the name.

“D-Darcy?” Harry splutters, as Louis gives him a funny look. Harry composes himself, keeping his dreams tucked in the back of his mind. “Yeah, D-Darcy. Darcy... Darcy Styles-Tomlinson.”

The name brings a wide grin to Louis’ face, and it is as if the blinding white lights of the room have gotten impossibly brighter, but now much more bearable.

“Wouldn’t it be nice?” Louis marvels dreamily. Harry nods, scooting closer to bring a palm to Louis’ cheek, surprised when his fingertips glide over wetness by his eyes. The room is once again filled with a content silence, and Harry just keeps stroking Louis’ cheek, imprinting the feel into his mind before it becomes impossible. 

“Do you… … think she’ll like me?” Louis asks. Harry scrunches his eyebrows, wondering why in the world Louis would ask such a thing. But, as Harry searches Louis’ eyes, he catches a glimmer of doubt.

“Why would you ask such a thing? Of course! She’ll love you.” Harry reassures, and he’s one hundred percent sure it is true. Louis simply smiles, and closes his eyes.

“I can’t wait, Harry. I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos if you like and comment below your thoughts! Thanks for reading :)


	15. Epilogue: Age 5

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Everyone screams, once the birthday song finished. Darcy grins in the dark, as the five candles sticking out of the flowery pink cake in front of her illuminate her glittering blue eyes.

“Make a wish!” Liam reminds before Darcy could blow out the candles. 

“Think deeply. This stuff actually works” Niall convinces, as Darcy stares at the candles contemplating. Her curly brown hair was tied up into two high pigtails, of which a birthday cone hat sat in between. Harry had spent hours buying all the birthday party gear, and it was all worth it when Darcy squealed at the matching pink balloons, hats, plates, and napkins. 

“I’ve got it!” Darcy announces, before sucking in a large breath, and blowing out across the cake, shrouding the room in darkness as the candles flicker out. The room erupts in cheers and claps, and a few gurgles from Liam and Sophia’s new baby girl, Maria. Someone flips on the lights, as Harry moves to stand behind Darcy, guiding her hands as she cut the cake. 

“What did you wish for?” Zayn inquires, eyes brimming with mischief. Harry starts to chide Zayn, before Darcy shakes her head, refusing.

“Sorry Uncle Zee. Papa said not to trust you.”

“Oohs” ring across the room as Zayn blushes but laughs heartily. Harry smirks, patting Darcy on the back. She beams proudly, sitting tall as if with a crown on her head.

Once everyone had their share of the pink cake, except for Niall, who got more than his fair share, Harry uncovers the presents that were tucked away in the kitchen closet. Darcy squeals at the pink wrapped boxes, each from the various guests at the table. 

“Ooh! Open this one first!” Niall exclaims, shoving a messily wrapped box in front of her. Harry chuckles at Niall’s eagerness, knowing he had spent a great deal of time choosing Darcy’s present.

One by one, each present was opened. There were big boxes and small boxes, and Darcy’s eyes lit with each one. Before long, only one present was left. Darcy’s eyes glide over it, missing the only non-pink present: a crisp white envelope.

Harry clears his throat, catching Darcy’s attention. She peers up at him curiously, as Harry tilts his head at the envelope. She stares at it inquisitively, picking it up and turning it over in her small hands, marveling at the unfamiliar messy script on the envelope. She raises her eyebrows at Harry.

“What’s this, Papa?” she breathed, as other eyes stare at Harry curiously as well. Harry swallows thickly.

“Well, Dar Dar, it’s a present. From Daddy.”

Liam, Niall, and Zayn’s heads snap up to Harry, who keeps his gaze on Darcy, as she carefully untucks the flap of the envelope. Everyone watches as she slowly pulls out a folded piece of light blue cardstock, the stationery that was offered at the cancer treatment center a just city over. It is quiet as Darcy’s eyes glide over the lines on the paper, her lips forming the words as her school teacher taught her to. Harry himself had never read any of the letters Louis wrote to Darcy, but he was always there, sitting in the cold steel chair next to Louis’ bedside as he scribbled furiously on the hospital stationery. 

Once Darcy finished reading, she looked up, giving everyone a strange stare.

“Why are you all staring?” she pouts, and a few chuckles break out. However the elephant in the room seemed ready to trample the whole party, so Niall piped up.

“What does it say?” Niall implores, before looking down sheepishly. “I mean, you don’t have to-”

“-No, I want to practice my reading.” Darcy interjects, grinning ear to ear. Although Darcy is almost always smiling, Harry notes a spark of excitement in her eyes. His head rewinds to the year before Darcy came into his life, and how, for three months, he sat by Louis’ bedside each day, feeling blessed to have such long afternoons filled with nothing to do besides watch Louis tap the cap of his pen against his lip, deep in thought. Sometimes Louis would crumple up the letter even after it was half covered in words, claiming it was all wrong, or simply shake his head in frustration at a blank sheet for not knowing what to write. Whenever he looked up at Harry, however, there was always that same glimmer of excitement, knowing he that was writing to someone he’d never meet but would always love.

Harry knows that there is another life out there where he will wake up each morning with a warm body next to his, have to set a table for three at dinner, and will lean by the doorway each night as Louis weaves an abstract tale to their children, but this life is his now. In the small warm kitchen crowded with the bright faces of the people closest to Harry’s heart, there is nothing more Harry can ask for.

Darcy holds up the letter as if it were a historic parchment, and clears her throat.

“Age 5. Dear Darcy…”

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Ah! This is my first story and I hope it turned out alright!
> 
> Please leave kudos if you liked it, and also, since some parts are confusing, please comment below if you would like an explanation :) Thank you for reading!!!


	16. Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, so for those confused...

Ok, in the chapter "Not Scared of Love," it is indicated that Harry woke up from a dream:

_"It’s one of those mornings where Harry wakes up with his body in the right bed but his mind in the wrong world. It’s where he feels as if he didn’t sleep a wink the night before, yet his muscles are relaxed as ever. It’s a typical morning after a dream, where everything in his head is a blurry haze, slowly surfacing throughout the day by the oddest of triggers."_

Which means that everything that happens before this chapter was all part of Harry's dream (Age 5-Age 17)

So now there are two different timelines: reality, and his dream.

Dream: (chapter "Age 5"-"Age 17")

In the dream timeline, it is implied that Louis and Harry are married and adopted Darcy. Louis "left" on the Christmas Eve when Darcy was four. From the chapter "age 8" it is said that 

_“Later that night, Louis slipped on his coat and drove off, leaving their lives forever.”_

and in "Age 5" it is said

_“Why did he leave last Christmas?"_

_“Well-” Harry gulps “-your daddy’s an elf. He has to make all those toys for Christmas and help Santa deliver them.”_

Those two lines, combined with the fact that Louis is revealed as dead in "Age 17" implies that on the Christmas eve when Darcy was four, Louis went out to run an errand that night and then died in a car crash (or just died in general) while out.

Because Darcy is only five and Harry is slightly traumatized, Harry makes up the story that Louis is an elf for Darcy just like how a lot of parents tell their children Santa is real. So, Harry has Darcy write letters to Louis much like how many parents have their children write letters to the other parent if the other parent works far away. Harry, though, takes the letter and just puts them by Louis' grave, as shown in "Age 17" since he observes there is a bunch of envelopes lying around.

Also, throughout the story, Harry mentions a lot that he wishes he was in a different lifetime (he's an AU fan) where he and Louis could be together. However, he is afraid that Darcy wouldn't be in his next life. This means that Harry has comtemplated suicide to some degree because he believes he will have a next life where he and Louis are together. But, he is held back because he is afraid his next life won't have Darcy, and he is willing to stay for Darcy.

Another key thing to note is that Harry is diagnosed with Alzheimer's sometime between "Age 14" and "Age 15." This is stated by Darcy in "Age 15" and foreshadowed in the lines:

“Zayn. Forgot you were coming.” Harry says

"Dad, that's the third sandwich you've given me." Darcy says suspiciously (Harry made lunch 3 times cause he forgot)

In "Age 15" Harry has that weird zombie dream, and it is supposed to represent how sometimes when we have a nightmare where we lose someone we love, we wake up feeling grateful for the people we love. In this chapter, Harry realizes how grateful he should be for Darcy being in his life, because even though he is always wishing for another life, there are worse lives (like the one in his dream where he loses both Darcy and Louis) and he should be grateful for what he gets.

Later, in "Age 16" Harry forgets who Darcy is, but remembers later cause Alzheimer's works like that a lot. Darcy tells Harry in this chapter after she came back (cause Harry shooed her out of the house, remember?) that Harry needs to always remember that Darcy loves him. 

_“I love you, Papa. Please don’t forget.”_

Remember this line. It is important.

In "Age 17" Harry forgets Louis died. When Harry sees Darcy talking to Louis' grave, he gets upset, so he tells her to stop talking to a rock. Darcy says she would rather talk to a rock than Harry because he is always wishfully thinking about a different life instead of being grateful he has her right now. In this chapter, she asks Louis' grave if Harry loves her, which reflects the first line of the story, where she asks Harry if Louis loves her.

What this shows is that even though Darcy seems to be worried that it is Louis who doesn't love her, the reason for her sadness isn't because Louis isn't around or dead, but rather because Harry is always moping about having a different life and not enjoying the current one 100%. Ok, cool.

Reality:

So Harry wakes up from the dream about everything explained above, but he doesn't really remember all of it. But slowly, he remembers the name Darcy, and he associates Darcy with the idea of something he's afraid to let go.

Ok, so time out for a second. In your own life, you probably have thought about a different life where you are richer, born into a better environment, or have "better" people surrounding you. For some of you, you might have thought about ending your life before. But, there is always that one thing that keeps you here, because you're afraid that in that "better place," that thing won't exist. Darcy represents "that thing" that keeps Harry grounded.

So while thinking about his dream and Darcy from his dream, Harry keeps letting his mind slip to Louis. As implied from the lines "don't think about him" and his constant reminders to not think about Louis, Harry is trying forget Louis from his life. 

This is the backstory to Louis and Harry's life in reality:

Louis and Harry are married. They want to adopt kids, specifically two. Approximately a year or so before this chapter (in the reality timeline) Louis is diagnosed with an aggressive cancer (which is why he is bald from chemo, in the hospital, etc.) Louis wants Harry to adopt kids after he dies, so the kids won't have a rough time when Louis dies. Harry is incredibly upset, because it is a traumatizing time for him. Louis is admitted into the hospital when the cancer gets worse. Harry, who is still unable to accept Louis is going to die, tries to move on with his life and ignore Louis' existence. 

Ok, moving on. In the dream, Harry has Alzheimer's. Since our dreams usually are created based on our actual events in real life, the Alzheimer's represents Harry's efforts to forget Louis. So remember that thing I told you was important from Harry's dream? ( _“I love you, Papa. Please don’t forget.”_ )

Well, Harry remembers while drinking his tea that Darcy said that to him in his dream. In the dream, the line meant that even when Harry forgets her (due to alzheimer's) she will always love him. Harry realizes from this that even though he is trying to forget Louis, Louis will still always love him. And, like his dream where he realizes he should make the most of the life he has, he realizes that even though Louis is going to die, he needs to make the most of every moment with him.

So Harry goes to visit Louis. They both make up, and Harry accepts the fact that Louis will die, and he agrees to adopt after Louis dies. In the end, Louis asks Harry if Darcy will love him since he won't be there. This reflects the first line of the story.

In the end, Louis says "I can't wait, Harry. I can't wait." (btw, Louis says this in a flashback in Harry's dream as well.) This implies that even though Louis will be dead, he will "experience" the girls growing up, which leads to the epilogue. The epilogue is NOT going back in time. It is showing a real life Darcy having her 5th birthday in real life. One of her presents for her 5th birthday is a letter from Louis. It is implied in the text that Louis wrote a letter for Darcy for each of her birthdays before he died. Through these letters, Louis is kinda "experiencing" Darcy growing up, as mentioned above. This makes it all go full loop, since in reality, Louis wrote Darcy letters instead of the other way around.

In the end, Harry understands to enjoy every moment of his life, even though it might not be perfect.

In other words, don't spend your life wishing for what's already there.

Sorry it was confusing, but thanks for reading :) I will edit this in the future, hehe.

NOTE: If there was a specific area that was confusing, please comment below what it was and I will edit it. Also, in the comments below, I told some people that Louis was going to be okay... which he obviously wasn't. Originally he was going to be okay, but my plot-line changed in between, so I am truly sorry if that affected you. It was insensitive of me, considering many people are affected by parent loss, and I hope you all are alright <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) Sorry it was confusing, I shall patch it up.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! If you've read this far, uh, thank you! Thanks for giving this a shot. I am seriously so grateful. *virtual hug* Please tell me if there is any grammar things to correct, and how you feel about this so far :) -Clayla


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